


Explicit Affairs

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crying, F/F, Jealousy, Post-Episode: s12e08 LOTUS, Pre-Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, Tears, consensual cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena's affairs are getting harder and harder to handle.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Kudos: 15





	Explicit Affairs

They were at it again — third time tonight, an absolute record for the past few months. Unlike the others, this guy had stamina. Vigor. Virility. He could handle a woman like Rowena. If anything, she was the one who had to pick up the pace to keep up with him.

Your stomach churned at the thought, at the images that flooded your brain despite you begging them not to. Rowena and _him._ Naked as the day they were born. Moaning. Gasping for breath. Bodies slick with sweat. Sheets drenched with fluids.

 _No. No, no, no._ You shook the thoughts off, but the unpleasant images remained seared into your brain, made even more vivid by the moans that echoed from the room next door. The walls were thin; you could hear practically everything, every squeak of the trashing bed, every smack of flesh on flesh, and every night you cursed yourself for putting yourself through it.

It would be so easy to shut it out. A bit of sage, a few magic words, and your room would fall into silence unbroken by even the birds chirping happily on trees underneath your balcony.

You couldn't do that.

You had to listen. Had to hear everything, to the tiniest detail.

It was only fair.

Rowena was doing this for you — for the both of you. If she could engage in intercourse (you refused to call it sex or, gods forbid, making love. That was what _you_ did with her) with old men for your benefit, the least you could do was listen to it.

But, gods, you hated it.

It had been her idea to seek this way of making profit. It was foolproof, she'd said. She'd done it a few times in the past, and it had always worked out in her favor. All she had to do was find an older man, marry him, and wait for him to die. Maybe speed up the process, in some cases, but for the most part, they tended to die just fine all on their own.

It wasn't ideal, far from it, but, after weighing all the pros and cons, you'd agreed to it. As much as you hated the idea of sharing Rowena with others, with sweaty, old men the mere thought of disgusted you, you needed the money. Living the high life wasn't cheap. Rowena was used to certain luxuries in life, the kind you couldn't afford, not even with your magic. Just because she was now dating you didn't mean she had to give up her lifestyle.

You couldn't bring yourself to even ask her to. You'd only recently become her girlfriend, after a year of pining for her. It was an honor. A privilege of the highest order. The last thing you wanted was to ruin it, to send her running.

At least this way, she was still yours. She could flirt with and kiss and fuck other men, but her heart belonged to you. She was your girlfriend.

They would never get to have her, not the way you did.

So, to Rowena's utmost delight, you'd said yes.

It wouldn't be that bad, she'd told you. A flutter of her lashes, and they would be hers, helpless, squirming prey in a spider's web. Easy-peasy.

If only it was.

It turned out, not many rich, influential men wanted to date women with baggage — a daughter, which was your role, and you played it exactly as she'd instructed you. Those who did Rowena found to be lacking in other areas. They overstated their wealth, or outright lied about having it. Or, in the case of Ben, wanted their needs met without offering anything in return. Without even trying.

A heavily sedated walrus, Rowena once called him. It made you laugh as much as it offended you. Not everyone got to fuck Rowena MacLeod. Didn't he know how lucky he was, how privileged that you were willing to share her with him? How could he _not_ try?

The next guy started hitting on you the moment she turned her head. He was dead as soon as his hand slithered down to your ass; as ironic as it was, Rowena wasn't keen on sharing, and she was even less keen on creeps.

The one after that, who had managed to last long enough to upgrade to fiancé, had been unfaithful, and had ended up getting blown into pieces by Crowley. It was a shame for his house, big and spacious and adorned with the finest art, was magnificent, but seriously — cheating? On Rowena, of all people? He didn't know how good he'd had it.

There was a time you would've killed to be with her.

She _chose_ him — with nefarious purposes, but still — and he still wasn't satisfied.

What was going on in these people's heads?

Her newest lover, Maximilian (because of course his name was Maximilian), seemed to be following a similar path. He'd invited her to move in only a month into the relationship, and Rowena was confident he would propose soon after. He was wealthy enough, and he seemed trustworthy; not the cheating kind, though you couldn't tell with a hundred percent certainty for the guy before him had kept a good facade for a while himself. He liked you, and not in a creepy way. He was sweet and charming, and, as it turned out, insatiable in bed.

You hated him for it. Despised him. Loathing burned in your veins with the intensity of a million suns. Who was he to moan her name like that? Who was he to thrust in and out of her, to kiss her, to claim her?

She was yours.

After months of daydreaming about it, of fantasizing about her arms around you, her lips on yours, her whispers in your ear, she was finally yours.

Why was she fucking another man in the room next door, then? Why was she calling his name amidst her screams of fake orgasms?

Because you let her. Because she'd asked, and like a fool, you'd let her because, even after all this time, you still couldn't tell her no.

She could ask you to jump off a bridge and you would have a hard time declining.

Tears pricked at your eyes like needles. You let them fall, let them drench your skin. Let them burn your already seething cheeks. With each new guy, it was getting harder to tolerate it. You thought you would get used to it, but the more you listened to her screaming names that weren't yours, the more you pictured her, naked and writhing, in other men's arms, the more it hurt. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

But then, when was life fair, anyway?

Was keeping Rowena worth this pain? This complete and utter feeling of helplessness, of rage, of envy that it wasn't you in that room with her, making her scream for real for she never had to fake it with you? Was it worth crying yourself to sleep night after night and not having her there to comfort you, to hold you and tell you it would be okay when it clearly wasn't?

It couldn't — wouldn't — be okay until this stopped.

Would it ever stop?

Would Maximilian's money satisfy Rowena, or would she hop right on to the next guy once she was done with him?

Would she care that you didn't want her to? Would she care what you thought at all?

You thought living through Lucifer's betrayal and, as per her own admission, witnessing God and Amara's cosmic angst that not even their immense power could fix had changed Rowena. Had given her a new outlook on things, on life.

Maybe it hadn't. Maybe she was still that cruel, cold-hearted person who didn't care about anyone but herself.

That person who didn't care about you.

A whine tore from your throat. You quickly clasped your hands over your mouth, quieting an onslaught of sobs, each more painful, more soul-crushing than the last. She couldn't not care. Right? She couldn't. She wasn't that person anymore.

What if she was? What if she always had been? What if she could never change?

What if the woman you loved, hidden behind a protective wall of ice and cruelty, didn't exist? What if you'd imagined her, seen what wasn't there — what had never been there to begin with?

"Maximilian, darling," she gasped. Exaggerated, forced. A painfully, almost embarrassingly obvious lie for, despite what she believed, she was never a good liar.

His chuckle told you he bought it.

Gods.

She wouldn't have to lie with you. She wouldn't have to pretend. She could just be. You had no money, no wealth of any kind to your name. But you were honest. You were real. You loved her.

Why wasn't that enough? Why weren't _you_ enough?

Would you ever be?

Rowena laughed, almost gigled. Ecstatic. Elated. "You naughty boy," she purred, and then they both moaned as their lips met in a kiss that meant nothing to her, but fooled Maximilian enough to give into it, to give himself over to it. Give himself over to her, heart, body, and soul.

You couldn't blame him. Rowena had that effect on people. She could do the cruelest things and still make you fall in love with her. She could rip your heart out and stomp on it with her dainty little foot until it was nothing but a bloody mush, and you would still adore her, still treat her like a queen.

Rowena MacLeod's power went beyond her magic.

You hated and loved her for it all at the same time.

*****

You waited until Maximilian headed out for work before emerging from your room. You'd spent the night tossing and turning, begging for sleep to come, to take you over, but it never did. The moans and the groans from the room next door plagued your mind like a bad echo, a rerun you couldn't turn off no matter how hard you tried to think of something else.

Even as Rowena and Maximilian drifted off to sleep, the horrible sounds kept replaying in your mind. Her screaming his name. Him moaning hers. Her gasps as she came. His laughs as she talked sweet nothings to him.

A knot twisted in your stomach at the memory. Bile burned at your throat. _It's fine,_ you told yourself. _I'm fine._

You weren't a particularly good liar, either.

As she did every morning, Rowena awaited you in the living room with a cup of steaming tea, prepared exactly the way you liked it. Her mouth widened in a smile at the sight of you, a genuine one, no falsehood in sighs.

Having her, the real her, for yourself used to be a comfort. Now, it felt as though you would've had it better with a lie. Maimilian certainly did.

"Good morning, my darling," Rowena said happily. She went to kiss you, but you turned your head and her lips barely brushed against your cheek.

You couldn't kiss her. Not after tonight. After she'd fucked _him_ three times in a row and kissed him countless times more. He'd gotten all the good stuff, and you, it felt like, were getting leftovers.

Hurt flickered over Rowena's face at the rejection, but she quickly smoothed it over. "I made you tea."

"I can see that," you said a tad harsher than intended. Instead of the sweet, delicious aroma, though, the stench of minty cologne attacked your nostrils. You wrinkled your nose, stomach turning with disgust.

Gods, she even smelled like him.

"Sleep well?"

"Not really," you said, because what would be the point of lying? There was enough lying going on as it was. "I couldn't sleep."

"Poor dear. You must be exhausted."

She laid a hand on your shoulder.

Unconsciously, you shook it off and turned your head before more pain spilled over her features.

Rowena pulled her hand back and stepped away, and you breathed out in relief. It was easier to sulk without her in your personal space. Easier to pretend everything was okay despite it not having been for months now.

"I'm fine," you said curtly.

"Could have fooled me," Rowena mumbled.

Really? _Really?_ "I might've slept some if you and your boy-toy kept it down."

"We weren't _that_ loud."

"Could have fooled me," you spat the words back at her, an echo filled to the brim with venom, potent and deadly.

"What has gotten into you this morning?"

Right. Blame you, because what else would she do? Rowena MacLeod never took responsibility for anything.

You whipped around to face her, eyes flaring, cheeks burning. "What has gotten into _you_ tonight?"

Rowena looked at you as if you'd just admitted to seeing a flying pig.

Before she could utter another useless retort, you said, "Three times! Three fucking times, Rowena!" You held up three fingers in emphasis.

"That's what this is about?" She chuckled, incredulous. At complete and utter disbelief of your outburst. "Alright, I admit — we might have been a bit loud. Our dear Maxi boy is insatiable."

Understatement of the century.

"The word 'no' is still in your vocabulary, right?"

"What?"

"You didn't have to go along with it."

She didn't have to fuck him. She didn't have to let him fuck her. She didn't have to scream his name and feign orgasms to the point where they almost — almost, but not quite — sounded real. To someone who didn't know her, they probably did sound real.

Rowena grit her teeth in frustration. "I've already explained to you how this works, Y/N. More than once."

She could explain it a thousand times more; it wouldn't make it hurt any less. It wouldn't make your shattered heart any more whole. Wouldn't put the broken pieces of your soul back together.

Words couldn't correct what actions destroyed.

"Right," you said. "You explained it. That makes it okay, then."

"What do you want me to say?" Rowena exclaimed.

"Nothing! That's the thing — nothing you say is gonna fix this."

"I wasn't aware anything was broken."

Of course she wasn't. She was too busy hanging on her dear Maxi boy's arm and daydreaming of his money in her account to notice something was going on.

Too busy to notice you.

The realization stung. Tears welled up in your eyes, and this time you held them back. There was no need to cry. You could — would — handle this like an adult. Just because you pretended to be Rowena's kid didn't mean you had to act like one.

"You're right," you said, giving up, because that was what adults did. They didn't fight losing battles. "Nothing's going on. I'm just in a bad mood."

Rowena wanted money, and in order to get it, she needed to sleep with other men. She needed to sleep with Maximilian, needed to fuck him three times in a single night, if that was what he wanted. Why did it matter what _you_ wanted? Rowena was the one running the show here. What she said, went. What she decided, happened. Fighting her on this, insisting on some justice, was futile.

Her needs came first. You came second. That was how this relationship worked, wasn't it? It was how everything worked, from the moment you'd met her. Becoming her girlfriend didn't change that.

You were foolish to think it might have.

Rowena raised an eyebrow, skeptical of your sudden defeat. You turned around, tears slipping free. She wouldn't see you cry. You wouldn't let her. Not here. Not now. Taking a sip of your tea, you flinched; the liquid burned at your throat, the sensation equal parts welcome and unpleasant. A perfect distraction from the issues at hand.

The tears were from the tea, you told yourself. Begged yourself to believe it. You weren't crying because of Rowena. You were crying because your tea was too hot.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Rowena said, tranquil fury personified, "don't you dare turn your back on me."

You drank some more tea. Savored the delicious heat.

"We are going to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." What was the point? She would still want the money. She would still want the grand house and the social status. There was nothing you could say that would change that.

"I beg to differ," she said.

You shrugged.

"Y/N." It was a growl. A warning that she wasn't in the mood for games. "There is clearly something you wish to say, so say it."

You couldn't help a bitter chuckle. "What's the point? It's not like you care."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't ask."

Maybe. But still… "No matter what I say, you'll still do what you want."

"Why don't you let me make that decision?"

"I did!" you snapped, slamming the still steaming mug down on the table. You glared at her, frustrated, angry. Pissed to high heavens. "That's all I've been doing for months! You've been making decisions for us, and I never complained!"

Rowena flinched as if struck, caught off guard by your outburst. You almost felt bad — almost for the anger bubbling up inside you swallowed every last sliver of sympathy. You couldn't hold the turmoil back anymore. Couldn't contain months worth of frustration, of sheer hurt that you wanted — needed — her to understand, needed her to feel even at the cost of causing her pain.

You'd been quiet for too long, your silence having festered into something wicked, something dangerous, and it wanted out, and you had no intention of restraining it.

"You never even bothered to ask what I wanted," you said, and the words — the cold, hard truth of them — spilled a new batch of tears down your face. "You think I like to share my girlfriend with sweaty old guys? I fucking hate it!"

You hated their eyes on her. Hated their hands holding hers. Hated seeing their lips kiss her, and hearing them whimper her name through paper-thin walls. Hated imagining her tiny, beautiful body, bare as the day she'd been born, nestled in with theirs.

She was _your_ girlfriend.

None of them had any rights to her, not like that. Not so intimately.

"You said you were fine with it," Rowena said.

You snorted. "What was I supposed to say? I know you, Rowena. You love the high life. I couldn't expect you to settle for less because, well, I know you don't settle. It was either this charade, or this charade without me in the picture."

"You're wrong," she said, and she looked so sincere, so heartbroken you wanted to forget the argument and wrap your arms around her until she was better. Until the hurt — the hurt you'd caused, purposely — went away. "When I asked for your permission, I wasn't giving you an ultimatum."

"It sure felt like it."

"Well, it wasn't. If you'd said no, I would have found an alternative."

 _"Right_. Come on, Rowena! You want the money, and fucking rich dudes is the fastest way to get it."

"It is not the only way."

"Since when do you take long roads over shortcuts?" You sighed. "I'm not stupid, okay? I know you. I admit, I did think us getting together might've changed things, but that's on me. Wishful thinking and all that. You never made me any promises. You don't owe me anything. And I'm not asking for anything. I just… I can't go on like this any longer."

Sleeping alone. Listening to her with other men. Watching her kiss them the way she kissed you. You couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't stand aside and let strangers parade your girlfriend around as if she were a piece of meat.

As if she were _theirs._

Lately, it felt like she wasn't yours, either. As if she'd stopped being so the first time she went on a date with another man while you cried your eyes out in your hotel room, terrified she would never come back, that she would choose the stranger with money over her faithful companion — her girlfriend — with nothing.

"I can't be with you," and, gods, the words stung worse than a hornet bite, "if you're with them. I thought I could, I tried, I really did, but I can't."

Rowena's lower rip trembled. Hurt, open like a bleeding fresh wound, flashed over her face. In a voice barely held together, she said, "You really think that low of me?"

"I—"

"You think I would choose these Neanderthals over you?"

"I'm not asking you to choose—"

"You think money is all I care about?"

"Isn't it? I mean, you're into some pretty high end stuff. Which isn't a bad thing. I just… I can't provide you that kind of lifestyle."

Rowena looked offended. "I would never ask you to. I do love wealth, but it's not the most important thing in my life. You—" She cut herself off, lips pressing into a stern, thin line. Clearing her throat, she reformulated, "I don't prefer it to you."

 _You are._ That was what she wanted to say, wasn't it? That she cared. That she felt something for you — something other than usefulness, other than mere infatuation. She had true, genuine feelings for you.

Feelings she used to brag she wasn't capable of.

"I don't care about any of these men," she said. "I wanted to provide you the kind of life you deserve."

"I don't want it," you told her. "Not like this."

She nodded, taking your words in. "I want you to be happy, Y/N. I want _us_ to be happy. It's been a while since I…" She swallowed a lump that had blossomed in her throat. "I wasn't enjoying it, but I thought you did. I thought, if I wasn't happy, the least I could do was make you happy."

Your heart swelled, guilt inside it, roiling and coiling like liquid fire. Here you were, assuming the worst, ready to give her up, and all she wanted was you. All she wanted was a better life for you.

"I should have known it was a mistake." She chuckled, a derisive, bitter sound. "If God and his sister can't be happy, what hope is there for me?"

You reached for her hand. Squeezed her fingers like you always did when you wanted her to listen, when you wanted her to know you were there. "Who says you can't be happy?"

She looked up at you, devoid of hope, of any sliver of it. It broke your heart.

"Maybe you just need to try something different. You've been living like this for centuries. Maybe it's time to change things up a bit."

"How do you suppose I do that?"

"Settle down, maybe? Instead of hopping from hotel to hotel, from mansion to mansion, why don't we find ourselves our own little place?"

It had been a longtime dream of yours. A house. A yard. Rowena's laughter echoing through the halls. The smell of tea and coffee filling up the house in the morning. A warm fireplace to curl up in front of in the coldest of winters.

Rowena quirked up an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" you said with a shrug. "When's the last time you stayed in one place for more than six months?"

She had to ponder on it. "It's been a while."

"Exactly! So why not try that? See if you like it?"

She considered it for a moment. Then, tentatively, "Maybe…"

Your lips widened in a happy grin.

Rowena smiled, equally joyous at the prospect. "I never meant to hurt you, darling," she said. The closest to an _I'm sorry_ that you would ever get. She didn't apologize; she never did, no matter how wrong she was. But she wanted to make this right for you. Wanted you to know that she was sorry, that she meant it. "If I'd known—"

"I know," you cut in, believing her every word. Knowing, deep down, that she would never toss you aside like trash, no matter what your insecurities said. "Let's just get out of here. Before he comes back. I don't want this to be awkward."

Rowena chuckled. "Let us finish our tea, at least."

You glanced toward your half-empty mug. "Okay."

"I was thinking," she said, sipping on her tea. Cold, but still delicious. "There is a way for us to make some money without shagging rich men."

"Uh-oh." What did she come up with now?

She ignored your reaction. "Have I ever told you I'm excellent at gambling?"

You stared at her, incredulous. "You? Gambling?"

"Aye," she said proudly.

For some reason the thought made you laugh.

"I'm serious," Rowena said. "I can play a wicked game."

"Or cheat wickedly?"

"Both."

Of course. "Are you sure? Those guys can be dangerous."

"More dangerous than me?"

She had a point there. "Fine," you conceded. "But only until we get settled. I don't want you making a business out of it."

"Alright," Rowena agreed.

It wasn't the kind of thing you wanted her to be involved in, but it beat sleeping with other men. Besides, it was only temporary. Just until you found a better, less dangerous way of surviving.

And you _would_ survive. You would be happy.

So long as you were together.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
